“I know you will. I may have been deceived in that Smith, but I am certain I am not in you,” added the landlady.
With the two dollars tucked away in a safe place, Jerry left the house. He knew it would be useless to go to Alexander Slocum’s office at such an early hour, and determined to look around in the hope of striking something whereby he might earn at least enough money to last him while stopping in New York.
“I won’t write home unless I have to,” he muttered to himself. “My time is my own and I’ll make the most of it while I’m here.”
Getting one of the dollar bills changed, Jerry bought a morning paper and looked over the Help Wanted—Males—column, and noted several addresses.
“I’ll try them and lose no time,” he thought, and hurried to the nearest store where a boy was wanted.
He was surprised to find a dozen applicants ahead of him. Worse than that, a boy had already been hired; so all of the others were forced to leave.
Jerry next tried a florist’s establishment. But here a boy was wanted who understood the city thoroughly, and he was quickly told he would not do.
Jerry walked from one place to another for three hours without success. Somewhat disheartened, he strolled into a park close to Broadway and sat down.
The situation was certainly a serious one, and the young oarsman was decidedly sober in mind as he sat there, staring vacantly at the hurrying throng.
“Well, young man, how did you make out last night?”